


Breath

by BurntOrange



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forced Relationship, Inspired by Fanart, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntOrange/pseuds/BurntOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short one shot inspired by fanart.<br/>Sandor follows orders to rape Sansa. A darker, crueler Sandor than I normally write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath

**Author's Note:**

> The art comes from the talented Courtney Trowbridge. https://courtneytrowbridge.com/tag/sansan/  
> I pulled both of these pieces independently and then traced them back to her tumblr. This is not the Sandor I normally write, but I hope you find it to be a valid, though disturbing, depiction.  
> Thank you in advance for feedback.  
> -BurntO

 

She tried not to fidget as she lay on the bed, but the wine that had been forced on her didn't sit well in her blood, and watching him undress riled her nerves.

 

His eyes flickered over to her with almost clock-like regularity, but his grim and expectant face hardly moved as he tossed shirt on top of white cloak on the floor.

 

He started towards her from the end of the bed, crawling like the hulking hound he was, casting her in shadow long before he was even close enough to touch her.

 

To her credit, she kept her body where it was and did not try to cover herself, but the craning of her neck was an urge that demanded to be acted upon in order to turn her face as far away from his as possible.

 

That long exposed neck. His hand reached for it, gliding up to trace her delicate chin before harshly wiping its way back down to palm her bosom.

 

He was drunk with the idea of her, and a few other things as well. He leaned down to smell her, to see if she was real.

 

Her chest heaved and her lips stayed tightly pursed.

 

He continued his inspection of her, pulling off her dress while still slowly divesting himself of weapons and clothing.

 

She didn't resist him. She exposed herself as his hands and gaze directed.

 

Finally she blurted out “I beg of you, do what you were sent in here to do.”

 

His gaze shot up to meet hers and she truly blanched for the first time.

 

He pushed himself off of her to finish the job of undressing, eyeing her with an unreadable expression.

 

“How do my orders sit with you?” he asked, reaching down to remove a boot. When he looked up her eyes darted away from his.

 

“Can't hear you little bird.”

 

The look in her eyes was a kind of deadened panic that he hadn't known existed.

 

“Tell me what you want to hear.” her whisper pleaded.

 

He began to crawl back over her again, naked now, and harsh face set. Again she stayed put, though the top of her head seemed to seek escape at the headboard.

 

“Everyone else just tells me what it is they want to hear.” her desperate voice told the pillows. 

 

He pushed down whatever emotion was stirring in him, all of it too complex. Pity? Desire? Regret? Triumph?

 

He pushed her legs apart and entered her without warning.

 

She tensed and held her breath.

 

The wine, the power and sensation. It all blinded him. But for a moment her panic became his and unthinkingly he answered her question.

 

“Your breath. I want to hear you breathe.”

 

As she did it shook, and threatened thousands more thoughts.

 


End file.
